Tee Time
by Raudhr Blodhgarm
Summary: A little fic about Bart causing havoc. Occurs during the Golem's Eye, or really whenever. Heavy spoilers. We're back, baby! All my reviewers, I'd like to point out that I have continued writing this story, and I love your faces!
1. Chapter 1

**Tee Time**

**Chapter 1**

**I have a feeling that golf doesn't exist in Natty's world yet or ever, so don't hate on the inaccuracy. I got the idea whilst watching the Tom and Jerry episode ****Tee for Two, ****and I was trying to put Bartimaeus spins on them. Like the episode where Jerry gets a bodyguard, I decided that the whistle is his trigger summons, and Tom is a rival magician to Jerry. But that's just me. And I can come to perfectly illogical conclusions. The inner workings of my mind are an enigma. 0.0**

Nathaniel, or John Mandrake as he was now known as, staggered into his office. He had dueled a renegade magician last night and it was beginning to take its toll. He plopped into his chair and prepared himself for the intensity of the politics he was involved in. In other words, controlling Bartimaeus as he dealt with the Resistance and such. It was just then that Julius Tallow strode into the room.

"Ah yes, Mandrake, I was just looking for you." He uttered as if Nathaniel were something unclean, "There is a golf social today. I assume you'll be coming?" He said it not truly as a question, but as a statement.

Nathaniel dutifully ignored his assertion. After all, he had no clue as to how to play golf. "No sir." He curtly replied. Julius Tallow fixed him with the most withering glare he could muster. Nathaniel remained resolutely unwithered. That failing, Tallow resorted to words.

"Well, it would be quite a disgrace on Internal Affairs if the up and coming John Mandrake rejected an event proposed by the Prime Minister himself." He lied. No one would notice, and he had no clue who had proposed it. But this was irrelevant, as he was just using different words for the same meaning as if he had directly ordered him. Nathaniel considered taking his words at face meaning, and thus subtly rebelling, but thought against it. It would get him no closer to becoming Prime Minister, his ultimate goal, by exchanging petty arguments with his superiors. So he went along with it. He would just request tutelage from Tallow in the ways of golf.

"Well, sir, I'm perfectly willing to accompany you there, but there is the small matter of learning how exactly to play this sport." He explained, turning to face Tallow for the first time.

"Oh, you'll figure it out." Tallow replied dismissively, cleverly repaying Nathaniel for ignoring his previous insinuation that the social was mandatory.

"I'm sure I will." Nathaniel said through his teeth. Oh joy. Now he was bound to be humiliated in front of the elite. "One of these days, I will pay you back for this." Nathaniel swore under his breath.

"Well, it's in an hour. See you then, John." Tallow smugly informed him. Once Nathaniel was fairly sure that Tallow was out of earshot, he slammed his forehead into his desk. He then leapt up and swore, growling and rubbing his forehead. He could ask somebody else, but they would most likely dismiss him or laugh at him. Blast it all! This was just fantastic. Now he was- Wait! He would just summon Bartimaeus and instruct him to attend the social in his semblance! Ah, that was it. Mandrake would prevail over Tallow. Bartimaeus was one of the more intelligent djinn, and was clever enough to recreate his witty personality. Now, to summon him.

He dashed outside to nab some chalk from his chambers. Unfortunately, Jane Farrar happened to be passing through the hallway just at that moment. (Don't ask me why she was in Internal Affairs. Most likely to try another manner of assault on poor Nathaniel's demeanor.) Nathaniel crashed into her at full speed, resulting in a most un-ministerly explosion of papers, pens, and a certain red handkerchief.

"My lord, John, slow down!" Farrar yelped.

"Ah yes, forgive me for perhaps being a tad bit overzealous in my desire to prepare for the golf social." He replied politely, quickly regaining his composure.

"What is there to prepare? Your outfit was quite presentable before a certain, ah, let's call it a mishap." She responded with equal composure, if somewhat more icy.

"Ah, but, with all these recent assaults on important members of Parliament, one must have a guard wherever one goes, lest those vandals attempt to waylay them." He asserted.

"I suppose so." She grudgingly admitted, then quite suddenly gaining an air of admiration. "So, what were you going to summon? I imagine it would be a being of no small power, to guard one of your stature." She declared.

His vanity flattered, Nathaniel replied with much importance, "Oh, just a small thing really, a djinni of the fourteenth level." And he wasn't lying. If he put his mind to it, he could probably summon an afrit of the eighteenth level. But he forgot that there would be no djinni of the fourteenth level guarding him, the spirit would **be** him.

"Oh, do make it show a semblance on the second plane, I want to see what you've summoned." Farrar begged.

"All right, all right, I'll-" He cut off suddenly, realizing his error in agreeing to make it visible to her.

"Why, whatever is it, John?" she queried with an innocent air.

"Nothing, nothing." He said dismissively, but he was unable to keep the troubled tone entirely out of his voice.

"Very well." She replied cheerfully, appearing entirely satisfied, but inside she was calculating where he might have gone wrong.

**And now, that annoying thing where I talk irrelevantly! Yay! This is my actual author's note, as author's notes should always be at the end of a chapter or story. The one at the beginning was just a little heads up not to hate on me. Tu Gusta? (You Like?) I do believe that this occurs during Golem's Eye, just during Natty's tenure as Deputy to Internal Affairs. That's just kinda it. Read and review because you love me. And now, ADVERTISEMENTS! Awesome stories (By me of course): Demons and Dragons and Rangers, Oh My! , a seriously intense crossover. It's an adventure! How the Grinch Stole Christmas, an Epic. I took the classic story, and remixed it into an epic adventure! Really it's the same plot; I just made it more dramatic and less kids' rhyme-ish stuff. Awesome forums (Not by me, but check out History of a Great Djinni if you like RPing.): Little Tin of Rosemary is a Bartimaeus RP forum that pretends that Ptolemy's Gate never happened. Go Jason Cat (One of my character's *Troll Face*)! Entropy Among the Stars is a General RP forum that has a background topic, so I won't explain. Awesome Authors: Raudhr Blodhgarm (*Troll Face*), Groose Almighty, Dautr abr du Sundavar, and Arctic Wolf Studios. And that's all. Longer than I expected.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Tee Time**

**Chapter 2**

"Si, senor?" I had gone with a Spaniard, just to mess with him. "What?" he snapped. Even more of a prat than usual, it seemed. "Que tal, senor?" I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender, just to confuse him even more. "Bartimaeus, I know that you speak English. Knock it off." He demanded. "No me comprende, senor. Yo soy de Espana." I explained. "Fine. You force me to do this." He declared in a threatening tone. "Que?" I asked, appearing close to panic. In fact, I knew he was just about to command me to respond in English. "Very well." He twisted his hand in a gesture and began the first syllables of the Essence Lance. Not a command at all. "All right, all right, lay off." I submitted. "Much too late for that, Bartimaeus." He responded gleefully, and then continued. "No cheek for the next three commands, and you don't blast me." I suggested. "Fine. I'll hold you to that. Do you know how to play golf?" He inquired quite suddenly. "That game with the clubs? You clobber the white ball? Yeah, what about it?" I replied. "I need you to go to a golf social in my semblance." He commanded quite solemnly. "Somebody skipping out? Don't tell me you've got a girl!" I gasped, seemingly realizing something, and then continuing, "Or a guy?" He immediately began sputtering and protesting "How dare you- no, I would never- Aggh! Of course not!" He buried his face in his hands. "Now, Natty, do I need to explain this to you?" I took on a fatherly tone. His head flew up, fear in his eyes. "NO! YOU MOST DEFINITELY DO NOT!" he shrieked. "Now, some confusion is just a part of adolescence. You see, there will be some changes going on, such as-"I began in an explanatory tone, but he cut me off, gabbling "I command you to immediately attend the golf social at noon in my semblance and impersonate my personality! NOW!" He started mumbling incoherently. The infamous fishhooks of my command didn't appear. Immediately and at noon. A contradiction. Renders his command pretty much irrelevant. But I would play along, act like a perfect little djinni, until I could cause some serious problems. Us two might bicker like a married couple, but we were far from love. I hope. I seriously hope we aren't in love. That would be very, terribly bad. Pretending I never thought of that, I wouldn't have him killed; I would just give him an interesting reputation. Might make him flirt with the wrong people, maybe even a guy. That would be fun. "Accidentally" clubbing Jane Farrar upside the head with a driver could have possibilities. Cussing frequently was a must. I could be indecent! Short shorts, oh the possibilities are endless! Natty interrupted my reverie by giving me another command. "Oh yes, and I'm going to summon Queezle to 'guard' you. I promised Jane Farrar that I would summon a middling djinni to guard myself. It was going to be you, but then I realized I don't know how to play golf and… you know." He ended lamely. A slight smile lit up my features for a split second, and then it was gone. "So long, Natty boy. And if you need me to, er, explain anything, just call." I waved, and disappeared to plot.

**Hello! It's me! That guy that you hate because he writes terribly! Do you like the Bart-Nat relationship? No, it isn't romance. That's kinda weird. BartxPtolemy makes sense, it says that Bart loved Ptolemy, but he and Nat had a fairly conventional master-slave relationship. I noticed that even though Nat's an adolescent, Stroud never talked about him going through the challenges everyone else faces, so I gave Bart a fatherly role. Tee hee.**

**Reader: No, I won't review, because I'm a troll!**

**Raudhr Blodhgarm: You think reviewing is no big deal, but it is, you troll! When I was just a reader, and didn't write, I didn't always review because I thought they didn't really check, but they do! I check every day! And every day, I'm disappointed. **

**Reader: All right, fine.**

**Raudhr Blodhgarm: Thank you. I love you. Just kidding.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Tee Time**

**Chapter 3**

**Before I begin this far belated chapter, I would like the thank my wonderful reviewers, in particular "reader," for being an idiot and making me feel better about myself by comparing myself to you. Thank you. Also, Wolfee, thank you for the positive review, Lurena, anon, J. Jones, you guys are great. Tech 17, Fyre Fli, thanks for the advice, notice, IT'S IN PARAGRAPHS! Yay. And Magic Sparks, I appreciate the feedback. Rock on, my marshmallows, rock on!**

I strolled down the halls, adjusting to the feel of Nathaniel's body. How people walk around in these bodies all day, I've no clue.

But, more to the point, as I continued walking around, acting important, a certain Jane Farrar approached me.

"Hello, ma'am." I greeted her as civilly as I could manage, attempting to stifle my laughter at her upcoming disgrace. I considered it fairly successful.

"Oh, Mandrake, is that your demon?" she asked, pointing at my shoulder. I glanced up at Queezle, who was taking the form of a flying monkey.

"Yes, that is my slave. Not too sophisticated, but it'll get the job done." On the seventh plane I was grinning cheekily at the indignant Queezle.

"Ah, yes, I've brought with me a Foliot, seventh level, nothing much at all."

I peered skeptically at the footstool hovering over her head. "Are you sure that's not an imp?" I asked.

"Quite positive, Mandrake. Now, to address my reason for contacting you, I would like to extend an invitation to come in my limousine."

She said it like it was all business.

"With pleasure, madam." I declared with much gusto. Strolling towards her ride, I hooked my arm in hers. The more trust built, the more trust to be betrayed.

As I settled into the velvet seat, I examined the selection of drinks.

I, of course, couldn't bear alcohol, no djinni could, but there was no reason I couldn't spill some on her expensive looking upholstery. "Fetch me some champagne." I ordered Queezle, relishing her glare. She brought it back, dropping it in my lap.

"So, Mandrake, what do you think the Minister's motive was? Why he would call all of us together at this time?" Farrar asked, a glint in her eye.

I shot her a blunt look. "I think he'd like an excuse for a sip of wine, personally." I began clumsily pouring a glass of champagne, though most of the beverage was slopping over the edge.

I watched her eyes widen with increasing amounts of hatred. "Do be careful, Mandrake. This is velvet." She spat (well, almost).

"Oh, forgive me." I said gallantly, replacing the bottle. The chauffeur stared blankly ahead. I examined him on all the different planes.

"Homunculi?" I guessed.

Farrar shrugged. "He was given to me by my master." She explained.

I nodded calmly. I glanced around through half-closed eyes.

The chauffeur cut the engine and moved around to open a door. I rose and jogged into the fresh air, breathing it in.

I restrained the urge to cough violently. Honestly, have you humans never smelled your cities? Perhaps its just your inability to register your own filth.

I grabbed a bag of clubs as the PM himself got out of a very fancy, very well guarded I'm sure, limousine. He was followed by his usual entourage of magicians, each with a djinni on his or her shoulder.

I recognized a few, such as Faquarl, who was studying me curiously. Naturally, wherever I go, this blasted fool follows me.

I found the Prime Minister, well, gray. Weakening, and not too powerful. But when he spoke, all of the ministers lingered on every word like starving puppies. Magicians are truly pathetic. Following power like flies to fruit. And if this was all they could follow… Britain wasn't doing too well.

But, of course, I had a badly phrased, inarticulate command to follow, didn't I?

I sat through the introductions, blandly smiling and greeting all the other ministers like a good little government lapdog.

Finally, we arrive at the first hole, and I tee up. Going through a few practice swings, I cleave the ball right off its stand.

And into Faquarl.

Whoops.

He glares at me, and motions whispering in his master's ear. Oh right. Damn.

I hold up my hands in apology (on the seventh plane of course, I wasn't just miming into thin air within the view of the ministers), and he smirks rather dastardly. Probably not a good sign.

As I continue to swing with perfect form, not being truly hindered by a human body, the ministers begin to look, well, suspicious.

Not of me, I'm not stupid enough to let my guise slip, but of a few commoners leaning against a building. "Slummies, always following the power." One of them mutters.

Funny.

I was thinking the same thing of them.

Finally, one of the commoners hunches his shoulders and turns away. The odd thing that I'm noticing is that they're just following us. Hole after hole. Perhaps for a reason.

A few of the more powerful officials seem to following my string of thought. One of them gestures to one of the Night Police following us. "Take care of 'em." He mutters at the burly man. He shrugs and starts heading towards the group of commoners, but a certain Ms. Farrar intercepts him, and he turns away.

Uh-huh. This doesn't seem like a plot to me at all. And banish the thought of Farrar not being above hiring commoner mercenaries.

I flex my essence, asking Queezle what she thinks. She just shrugs. "Of course they're looking for trouble. What did you expect?" she asks disparagingly. Well, hooray for kindness between djinn.

But something about them seems familiar. And I really don't know a lot of good people. One of the girls turns her head and I curse. Well if it isn't the Market Gang themselves!

Recall back a while ago when I had to save Nathaniel's scrawny arse? Not specific enough for you? Me neither. Specifically, I was toting around the infamous Amulet of Samarkand for Natty Boy while a few commoners trailed me, manhandled me, tried to steal it, I almost ate their heads, that time, if you remember. Well, surprise, surprise, if it isn't the same girl. And her acne-ridden companions are glaring at me like they've seen a ghost.

Honestly, ghosts aren't half as scary as me. Apparently they remember me. Can't say I'm surprised. People tend to remember when their prisoner turns into a crocodile. And then of course, there is my sparkling personality, but I digress.

I imagine this is going to evolve into a cliché suicidal bomb-throwing session, and I'd really rather not go there, so I grin unnervingly. Instead of fleeing in fear, the commoners decide to follow the time honored, vulgar tradition of giving me a rude gesture.

Like a civilized person, I respond with a series of disgusting changes that come thick and fast until they're looking somewhat green. However, once again, instead of the desired result, they lash back at me. But this time, they pull out what looks like an elemental sphere.

I somehow can't find it within myself to reward them on their creativity. But, as one of my many dead masters said, "It's gonna explode, get out of the way!"

**Well, baby I'm back! SOOO sorry about how long this was on hiatus. It's a sin, man, this is a sin. But, now I'm back, gonna finish this story, and then continue finishing my stories. SQUEEE!**


End file.
